


The Realm Of Surrender

by BlackVelvet42



Series: For Her [5]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay, Consensual Kink, D/s, F/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Shameless Smut, Shibari, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 02:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13021809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/pseuds/BlackVelvet42
Summary: “Without hesitation, you give him what he demands.Yourself.Fully and completely, without conditions.”





	The Realm Of Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angrywarrior69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angrywarrior69/gifts), [Killermanatee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/gifts).



> For Angrywarrior69, because “Holy shit balls” and other delicacies.
> 
> For Killermanatee, because “It makes me so happy when in BDSM stories the characters simply enjoy it. I hope you’ll be inspired to continue it.”
> 
> For Klugtiger, because “This story is NOT done. How dare you leave us so unfulfilled!”
> 
> For Sonnenscheinchen1986, because “Now get your god-damned hot ass up and write!”
> 
> For Cherrypie23uk, because “So glad to have someone write BDSM who actually understands it on every level.”
> 
> For Khurst, because every single comment on my attempts to write smut.
> 
> For MiaCooper, because “...porn for women to balance the male porn…”
> 
> For Helen8462, because everything starting from “OMG. Yes!! YES!! YES.”
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much MiaCooper and Helen8462 for the kind beta.

***

 

The concept of a safe word has a serious flaw.

It is based on a faulty premise.

Because if you’re drawn to the darkness, the line between safe and insane is vague and ever-changing, floating on the restless waves of passion. And when the night invites you in, luring you deeper bit by bit, where is the moment, or the need, to stop?

It’s not that you don’t want to do what he’s requested, to respect his wishes, to give the signal, to stay in this life.

But the slide is too stealthy and the journey far too divine.

Like tonight, when you undress under the blinding spotlight in the holodeck while he stays in the shadows, watching you reveal creamy skin and curves he can’t resist, enjoying your nervous tremble for the unknown.

He steps to you silently, heat written in his moves, and takes you by the chin, his eyes dropping to your lips. He kisses you deep and hard, detaching reluctantly with a low growl, his mind fixed on another goal.

Turning you around to face the mirrors he set for your pleasure, he begins to bind your naked body with devotion and care.

From the first simple knot tying your wrists together against your chest, his expert hands continue with a series of twists and turns, weaving a web over your pale skin, expanding into an intricate pattern of submission, caging your arms and legs as tightly as your will.

Absorbed in his task he strives to bring forth the detailed image in his mind and as you stand there, being molded by his vision, savoring the feel of his warm fingers and the hard ropes, your heart weeps for the beauty of the scene.

Once finished, a contented smile passes his features as he examines this piece of art he has created, but when he pushes you down to your knees on the concrete floor, that softness is already gone.

You dare to look up at him one last time and he meets your gaze briefly, keeping his intentions hidden behind dark ebony.

The firm grip on your hair makes you shudder and when he presses you further down, cheek onto the smooth, cold surface, no words are necessary.

Without hesitation, you give him what he demands.

Yourself.

Fully and completely, without conditions.

Breathing in slowly, you try to steady the anticipation. Fear and lust are tangled together so tight you’re not sure which is which, and with each inhale too deep the ropes dig into your chest, like a warning not to move.

The single loose cord around your throat is but a final reminder that you are not in control, of anything. Not even your next breath.

He prolongs your wait, allowing your imagination a chance to take over, and as it does, it conjures scenarios unexplored, possibilities you’re not certain you’d enjoy.

The silence is filled with your shivering gasps and rapidly fluttering pulse, still clinging to the illusion that escape would be an option.

You hear a faint rustle and know what it means. Another fantasy is about to be given substance and form, unveiled to you only when he decides.

He murmurs something beyond your hearing, softly like the silken caress along your spine, but you know it’s only the last goodbye before he sends you into the flames.

The first strike whistles as it comes, strands of leather biting into your back, and a burn like lightning shoots through your consciousness. Every nerve ending on fire, you jerk against the ropes that will never yield.

The shocked scream slicing the air doesn’t sound like yours. It is the cry of an animal, trapped and wounded.

But the sting lessens quickly, dampening into pulses of arousal, settling into a steady throbbing, and you wait for the next lash, whenever he chooses to deliver it.

Why this hell should be so close to heaven is beyond your understanding, but you’ve given up trying to find an explanation for these desires a long time ago.

You just know it’s an extraordinary high that will echo in your body for days, leave you feeling the sweet remnants of his affection and, even in the middle of healing, longing for more.

It’s an arc of passion that begun with the ropes gently set to place, or maybe it began much earlier, from the mere thought he planted when he leaned closer to you on the bridge at the end of a long shift, a long week, and whispered so quietly that no one heard.

 _Tonight_.

That simple word and the intimate secret it held left you wet and wanting, restless to endure the remaining hours of duty, dreaming how he would claim you, all of you, under his command.

As the second blow lands, the impact nothing less than the first, the howl rising from deep within has a new timbre, of need and surrender.

The ache between your legs is begging for attention and the slow trickle of moisture down your inner thigh surprises you only with how soon it appeared.

The hot and musky scent of your arousal is undeniable proof that this is what you hunger for, to be conquered and violated, ripped apart to feel an ecstasy unlike any other.

Unable to achieve it on your own, you need this man and him alone, his strength and his will, his care and his skill, to hold you in his palm and to crush you, and then breathe you back to life again.

The third strike falls, piercing through the mist your mind has become. You tense and wince, but the cry which erupts from you is faint already, and as the lashes continue across your backside, you fall into a plane where existence is but a haze of continuous stinging, burning, throbbing, lusting.

The swings of the flogger follow the rhythm of the ocean, growing from gentle to stronger and into a storm, seeking the threshold where the pain overcomes the pleasure, and back again, lessening, dampening to a breeze, ready to build the force again.

Somewhere in the middle of this stupor of hurt and desire, you are supposed to recognize the point when you should utter the word, the one that would let you rest and think, decide if this is enough or if you wish it to continue.

But how do you do that when everything is exactly how you want it to be? Your strength weakening, your sense of self fading along with any kind of conception of time or space.

Then you’ve also come to trust that he knows, better than you do, that he can read your body without effort and judge: it is only this much you can take today.

He kneels down by your side, brushes the sweaty tresses aside from your face and kisses your weary lips in a sign of approval and deliverance.

There’s no smile left to give him, but it flickers inside, the gratitude for this safety, that you don’t have to know nor decide because he does it for you.

His fingers trail down, considerate in circling around the bruised flesh on your back, striped red with his love. They curve over your ass and slide into your slick heat, easing inside with velvety tenderness.

His gentle touch is a sharp contrast to the harshness before and it draws a satisfied little noise from you.

Turning seconds into a stream of pure joy his talented fingers dance on your clit, building you up with precision and knowledge gained from hours spent on this task, until the tightness in your belly has grown into a scorching tension, aching for release.

But he keeps teasing you, denying what you crave, and a spark of resistance lights inside. Not a plea, but an instinct to order.

He feels it immediately, this dissonance in your submission, and withdraws, barking out his disapproval.

A hand is placed on your upper back, pinning you down harder, tightening the restraints around your body and your neck, and everything around you is chanting for you to let go, let go, let go.

With a long shivering sigh you close your eyes, giving in to his power and melting back to who you are in this realm, this reality - nothing but what he allows you to be.

He lets you think he’s abandoned you.

Not a touch is given, not a sound is made, but you abide and wait.

Accepting your surrender, he moves behind you, lifts your hips, and spreads your legs apart. His touch lingers on your skin and his mouth glides over your lower back in worship and possession.

The message doesn’t have to be stated, it’s as loud as a roar.

_You are mine._

And when his warm tongue makes contact, sliding lavishly along your folds, your eyes shoot open. Unable to stifle the sharp inhale of amazement and delight at the exquisite sensation, you huff his name in a voice so raw it’s almost obscene and feel his grin at your core.

Instantly, you want to push closer to his face, to have more of this bliss his mouth is creating, but you know he would stop if you did.

Understanding the conflict, he rewards your obedience by pushing in two long, gifted fingers to add to your rapture and continues licking you slowly and deliberately into a quivering mess, sucking you until every bone in you turns liquid.

Your moans have long turned into whimpers, but still, he’s keeping you from coming, keeping you precisely where he wants you and you know he can do this, hold you at the brink of orgasm to the end of eternity.

It isn’t until you’re hurting all over from holding still, shaking from the restraint and the agony of delaying, until a doubt has crept into your mind that maybe he won’t let you come at all, that maybe somewhere along the way there was something you did he didn’t like and he intends to punish you, that a pitiful sound breaks free from your throat.

This is the second time you’re supposed to say the word, to tell him that you can’t take it anymore, that this extended denial is too painful, too cruel, and too close to torture, but you fail, again.

And again, he knows.

He withdraws his warmth and your insides clutch at nothingness, but you don’t object. He will give and fill you, eventually.

You focus on breathing, on calming the burning need, when you feel the tip of his hardness nudging against your wet entrance. He crouches over behind you and his lips caress the shell of your ear as he tells you to prepare yourself because he is done waiting and will not be kind.

With no further warning, he shoves his length inside you with a single forceful thrust and you shriek at the sudden pain of penetration and stretching.

But the discomfort passes and you sink into the blessing of being joined with him. It’s a gift from the heavens you will never stop craving, the part where he doesn’t hold back but gives abundantly.

His hands on your hips are rough, fingers carving onto your skin as he dives into you again, hitting your deepest depths, and you moan out loud together.

It strikes you every time, how such a simple act can give so much pleasure, resonating throughout your body to the far reaches of your heart and soul, bringing tears of joy to complete the primal symphony of sensations.

He speaks of affection in fractured sentences, but his voice is faltering, losing its cool as he buries himself in your welcoming heat harder still and he pauses, growling a curse. Too close to coming already.

His impatience is evident, his dominance absolute.

 _Please,_ your mind whispers through the haze, but you stay silent knowing the decision is his and his alone.

The angle changes and his fingers settle between your thighs, stroking your soft flesh while he keeps driving into you, recognizing that tonight you require more to come.

But it’s not enough. Your energy is depleted.

The burdens of the week have taken its toll and the whirlwind of sensations he’s already inflicted has washed away all strength needed to reach for climax.

Blinking back the stinging disappointment, you admit the distance between your orgasm and his is too far apart that you will never make it together, not today.

Despite his relentless rhythm and feverish groans, seemingly lost in a world of his own, he feels you giving up.

He, however, never will.

Strong, determined hands pull you up onto your knees and on the mirrors in front of you opens a stunning view.

She is staring right at you, this embodiment of raw sexuality. Her petite form is bound helpless, her skin flushed all over. Her eyes are drowsy with lust, swollen lips parted in a primal O, tangled auburn hair splayed over her shoulders.

Held in the tight embrace of her captor.

You barely recognize that carnal creature as your own reflection and she certainly bears no resemblance to the captain, but she is wild and beautiful and dazed with ecstasy provided by the dark man towering behind her, owning and sheltering, her perfect counterpart and the answer to her every prayer.

Before he bends you down on the floor again, you see his mouth form the three words that ultimately bind you together. A confession not expected in a moment like this, but a welcome reassurance, a reminder of what will be left when everything else is said and done.

He holds you still and resumes his moves, each sharp thrust harder than the last, playing your body with all his intimate knowledge, demanding everything you have and insistently pushing you higher.

The strap around your throat tightens and it adds to the thunder, leading you further on a path where you have lost yourself so many times before.

The flow of air to your lungs is cut off and the world is soon but a blur, the frenzied tension growing larger than the universe with him slamming into you again and again.

This is the third time you’re supposed to signal him.

But how, how in the world could that be done, when you are so close to the meaning of this existence, the singular goal every nerve ending in you has strived to achieve, merely seconds away from perfection?

As your pleasure reaches its peak, expanding and shattering into a million brilliant splinters of newborn stars, your mind blacks out into nothingness.

Why should there be any regret if the end would come like this?

You’re not gone long, maybe only a heartbeat, and when you surface, sucking in a desperate gasp for oxygen, he is still holding you. His strong arms are curled around you and his hardness pulses within, his seed inside you warm like his breath on the side of your neck.

Through the exhaustion and relief, the prolonged mix of intense emotion and sensation erupts first as a frail sob, but breaks into a flow of tears, as a final surrender to him and this fulfillment and joy of your togetherness.

He slips out but keeps you close, lifts you up from the floor and cradles you while you’re still shaking, searching for all the pieces that used to be you.

The bed he calls for shimmers into existence, pale white in the darkness, and he carries you there, lies you down and nestles next to you, secure and comforting.

Boneless and spent, you lean your drowsy head against his chest and draw in his scent. His presence fills your heart with peace and tranquility, soothing and guiding you out of the disorientation.

The ropes around you begin to loosen as he unties you, freeing you from his command, yet it feels nothing but a loss.

What is the worth of freedom after a prison so sweet?

He kneads your sore muscles, strokes the imprints on your skin, and kisses the red markings on your back, bringing you back to life and this world he wants to share with you.

Gathered in his arms you listen to his pulse calming down and bathe in the divine state of relaxation and euphoria, your consciousness gradually catching up with reality.

A smile finally spreads across your face.

With a content sigh, you press even closer to him and whisper these words like you always do.

_Thank you. I love you._

 

_***_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What You Hunger For](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15385893) by [MiaCooper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCooper/pseuds/MiaCooper)




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